An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords)

by Beverley Kendall

  “I do apologize, Your Grace. My intention was never to embarrass Alex or you and His Grace,” she replied sincerely.

  “I do not care to hear about what you intended if the result was precisely the opposite.”

  It didn’t matter what she said, what apology she offered, it was clear the duchess wasn’t of the mind to forgive her.

  Charlotte studied her hands as the duchess stood court, standing regally next to the gold brocade settee. Silence fell and lengthened to such a degree, Charlotte finally looked up to find the duchess’s gaze fixed upon her.

  “I am waiting for an explanation,” she snapped impatiently.

  “Pardon?”

  “Truly, Miss Rutherford, I know it has been some years but you didn’t appear witless when last we met. I want to know the reason you ran out on my son.”

  For some inexplicable reason, Charlotte hadn’t expected this question from her. The duchess carried herself in a way that suggested asking would be beneath her.

  “I’m sorry but that is between myself and your son.”

  The duchess’ spine lengthened, no doubt unaccustomed to being refused anything. If possible, she pinned her with an even colder stare, her displeasure further evidenced when a white line replaced the pink of her lips.

  “Why are you here? Why have you come back after all this time? My son is no longer in love with you. He has been doing quite well without you.”

  Her words stung. But she understood the duchess’ anger. A mother’s love could cause any woman to become the most ruthless creature when protecting their child.

  “I would have to be blind not to see your boy is a Cartwright through and through. And it is for the sake of my son and grandson that I shall go along with this so-called marriage scheme of yours. But take note, Miss Rutherford, if you hurt my son again, I will destroy you.”

  “I have no wish to hurt Alex. I care very much for him.” She loved him.

  “Then I must say you have an extremely curious way of showing it. I refuse to go through what I did when I was told he’d been fished from the Thames inebriated and half dead over a woman who would leave him at the altar. I warned him marrying you was a mistake.”

  Shock froze Charlotte in place as a sort of numbness stole over her.

  Fished from the Thames inebriated and half dead.

  The duchess’s words echoed in her head until she could hear nothing else.

  Over a woman who could leave him at the altar.

  “What?” she asked in a strangled voice.

  The duchess narrowed her gaze and regarded her in silence. She tipped her head to the side and said softly, “I see you were not told. I’m surprised. Your brother was one of the men who came to his aid.”

  “What happened?” Charlotte couldn’t keep the distress from her voice, which wavered and shook. Her hands trembled uncontrollably in her lap.

  The duchess’ mouth curved in the facsimile of a smile. “If your own family and my son haven’t yet shared it with you, I see no reason that I should.”

  That her heart could hurt so much yet still continue to beat in her chest must be one of life’s great mysteries. Overcome, Charlotte forced herself to breathe slowly. She couldn’t believe Alex would ever try to harm himself but if he had been drunk and not himself, accidents like that could occur. And if anything had happened to him it would have been her fault for it had been her abandonment which had driven him to that.

  Had it been seconds or minutes, Charlotte didn’t know how long she sat lost in thought, sorrow and regret relentlessly hammering her. A movement by the duchess drew her gaze back to her. The duchess’ eyes had lost their faint glow of smugness.

  “I cannot have you falling to pieces once we rejoin the men. Perhaps it’d be best if you forgot I mentioned it. I don’t believe my son would want you to know.”

  No, Alex would not want her to know. But she did and the knowledge would haunt her.

  “Will you require a moment alone to compose yourself?” the duchess asked, sounding the closest she’d ever come to expressing actual concern.

  Desperate for it, Charlotte nodded.

  “I will tell my son you required use of the retiring room,” she said, inclining her head in a nod before taking her leave.

  When her sister had told her how badly Alex had taken her flight, she could never have imagined the depth of his pain.

  At least she’d had Nicholas, who had been too often her own raft in the stormy sea that had been America in the early days. It had been for his well-being she’d eaten on the days the very thought of food turned her stomach. So instead of settling comfortably into a state of melancholy and wallowing in heartbreak, she’d been forced to plan and keep herself strong for his arrival. Then after he’d arrived, his care had been paramount and that was how she’d coped.

  Alex had lost himself in women and drink. But as her sister had informed her, he no longer drank. And given the fact he’d been contemplating marriage, it was obvious he’d wanted to settle down. And settle him down she would.

  He now had a wife who loved him whether he wanted it or not and a son he appeared to want more than anyone or anything. She may not be able to give him back those five years but she was doubly determined to do everything in her power to make him happy. He deserved that and more. Perhaps they both did.

  The hours following were—if not pleasantly spent—not as painfully taxing as Charlotte had anticipated they would be.

  The duke tried to engage Nicholas, but his efforts were painfully awkward and the conversation, stilted. Charlotte tried her best to help the conversation along but her efforts were met with cold looks from the duke, which only served to make Nicholas all the more reticent to engage himself with his grandfather.

  Supper was served in the formal dining room on a table intended to service guests greater in number. Allowances were made for the smallness of their party and Nicholas. Alex remarked that he and his brother hadn’t eaten in the dining room until after their third year at Eton.

  By the time they departed to return to Alex’s residence, the city was cloaked in the dark blanket of night and Nicholas’s lids were drooping closed, his head snapping up and his eyes fluttering open during prolonged periods of silence.

  While Charlotte would not go as far as to say the duchess had been kind to her, she had made an effort—no doubt for her grandson—to treat her civilly.

  Not even a minute after they boarded the carriage, Nicholas fell asleep in his father’s arms. Alex appeared content to hold him. Again, she couldn’t help thinking how normally it would have been in her arms that her son trustingly curled up to sleep. She should be happy that Nicholas had someone else to whom he could count on and look to for his physical as well as emotional well-being. But sharing him was new and it would take time to become accustomed to it.

  The temperature outside had dropped over the last several hours, and the interior of the carriage bordered on winter cold. Charlotte clutched her cloak about her more tightly.

  “Are you cold?” Alex asked politely.

  “I will be fine. We won’t be long in the carriage in any case.”

  Several moments of silence followed before she asked, “Is it Nicholas’s resemblance to Charles the sole reason your parents so readily accepted him?”

  The interior of the carriage was too dark to make out Alex’s face but she saw the movement of his head when he nodded.

  “Your father appeared most affected by the resemblance.” While the duke’s reaction hadn’t been quite as overt as the duchess’, his silence and the way his gaze had constantly volleyed between Alex and his grandson had been more telling.

  “My father grieved my brother greatly.”

  Charlotte had been aware of Alex’s estrangement from his father. But that had ended after Charles’s death—at least for a time. But it was clear the men still didn’t get on. She wondered if Alex had been jealous of his father’s obvious preference for his older brother.

  “Believe me,
he will do everything in his power to ensure not only that Nicholas is my legal heir, but that he is accepted by his peers.”

  “And had Nicholas resembled you, would he have been as accepting?”

  Alex’s answer didn’t come immediately. Charlotte so wished she could see his face.

  When it finally came, it was cool and emotionless. “If he’d resembled me, my father would have continued on as before, firm in his belief that I am not his son.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Their arrival at his residence interrupted their discussion. Which was just as well as Alex no longer wanted to discuss it.

  The only thing that would explain his reason for divulging the one thing he hadn’t told even his closest friends was the feeling of triumph at being able to prove the duke wrong. In all the years he’d known Rutherford—and Armstrong as well—he’d never revealed the reason he and the duke were estranged despite being asked countless times.

  When they entered the foyer, the footman relieved them of their outer garments. Before she could offer, as Alex knew she would, he said, “I shall put him to bed.”

  Charlotte looked as though she was going to protest but after a pause said, “If you wish.”

  Nicholas awoke while he was undressing him. Eyes half closed, he sleepily asked for his mother. Alex gave him a comforting smile and told him he would be putting him to bed and then proceeded to hunt through the chest of drawers to locate where the maid had stored his sleepwear.

  Ten minutes later, Alex exited the room, his son changed and under the covers fast asleep. His nanny had always been the one to put Alex to bed. But he was determined to be a different sort of father than the duke had been to him. Even his mother, as much as she’d loved him, had never been able to stand up to the duke.

  Normally, Alex wouldn’t think of retiring before ten o’clock, but it had been a long day and frankly, he didn’t want to chance running into Charlotte tonight. She’d looked beautiful this evening and she wanted him. Would gladly have him if he gave the word. And right now, that was a little too much temptation to resist. Especially now that much of the bone-deep anger he’d initially felt toward her had subsided, although not gone completely.

  In his bedchamber, Alex shrugged out of his coat and was unbuttoning his waistcoat when a knock sounded at the door. It hadn’t been the quick sharp knocks of his butler, but lighter, more tentative.

  A feeling of unease crept up his spine. Alex stood motionless, hoping if he didn’t answer whoever it was would leave. The knock came again, this time louder, followed by a hushed, “Alex, are you awake?”

  Charlotte. Bloody hell! The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with her tonight.

  “Charlotte, I’m going to bed,” he said tersely. He hoped his tone was properly discouraging.

  “Please, I’d like to speak with you. It won’t take but a few minutes. May I come in?”

  Her voice, soft and everything feminine, started his pulse racing and desire to unfurl in his gut.

  Hastily, Alex tucked his shirt back into his trousers before going to open the door—but only halfway.

  Alex nearly groaned aloud upon seeing her.

  She wore a dark blue, silk dressing robe cinched at the waist with a sash. With her hair unbound falling down her back in a torrent of golden curls, she looked young and fragile and earnest. And beautiful enough to tempt the devil and make a mere mortal like him lose his head.

  Which is precisely what will happen if I take up with her again.

  He’d lived through the hell of losing her once—but just barely. And as he looked down into her blue, blue eyes, he very much doubted he could survive the thousand agonies of that nightmare again—or at least emerge the experience a whole man.

  “Alex, I thought we could talk further.” Her voice held a hint of the sort of tentativeness one used when uncertain of their reception.

  The arousal he’d been suppressing since the kiss they shared at his parents’ home flared back to life. He hated the inconvenience of it, wanting her and not being able to adequately control the wanting. He knew if he permitted himself to forget all the pain she’d caused, he was bound to repeat mistakes of the past, his biggest, in trusting her with his heart.

  But they would be residing in the same house so he needed to face his weakness—build up his resistance.

  “We can speak in here” He opened the door and motioned with his chin to the sitting area of the master suite. Everything would be fine as long as they stayed well away from the bed, which was separated by a wall that ran half the length of the room.

  Although her smile was a slight curve of her lips, her eyes shone with what he could only take as relief.

  Another shock of arousal pierced him, this one sharper, more acute than the last. He wished she wouldn’t do that. He vividly recalled the smiles she’d bestowed upon him years ago. Smitten smiles, shy smiles that had grown passionate and more sensuous over the years. He’d relished those smiles and reveled in them for they had been his alone.

  He would not encourage her. A kiss here and there to settle her nerves and give Nicholas the impression they cared for one another was fine. Anything more would be at his detriment.

  The room was dark save the fire blazing in the fireplace in the bedroom area. Alex lit the wall sconce and a gas lamp on the side table. Charlotte took a seat on the sofa, the silk of her dressing robe pulling taut across her thighs.

  Alex swallowed and hastily jerked his gaze back to her face.

  “Why did your father not believe you were his son?”

  Ah, that. He’d almost forgotten about their discussion in the carriage.

  “Look at me,” he said, sinking into the winged-back chair adjacent to her, deftly releasing the top two buttons of his waistcoat with one hand. “Both my parents are fair, as was my brother. When I came along, dark in hair and not fair in complexion, the duke accused my mother of cuckolding him.”

  “And your mother, what did she say?”

  “My mother denied it. Told him she had Black Irish somewhere down her family line.”

  “But he did not believe her.” She spoke softly, her eyes filled with sympathy.

  “No he did not.” Except for the one time at the age of seventeen, when his mother had finally told him of the strife between her and the duke, which then explained the duke’s ill treatment of him, Alex had never discussed the matter again.

  “Did you ever wonder if your mother was telling the truth?”

  Unprepared for the question, Alex didn’t have a ready answer. He loved his mother. She had been the singular light in his childhood, his only champion until he’d met the Armstrongs. She would never lie to him. But he had wondered at times. God, how many times had he hoped the duke wasn’t his real father? Too many to count.

  “Sometimes,” he replied truthfully. “Sometimes, I did wonder when I looked at the three of them all together. My brother’s resemblance to the duke was quite strong. He could never deny him. And the duke is such a rigid man, I often wondered if my mother hadn’t grown weary of it and sought affection elsewhere. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.”

  Charlotte nodded. “So the fact that Nicholas so resembles your brother proves to your father he must have sired you.”

  “Yes.” Not only had it proven it to the duke, but it washed away any doubts he himself may have fostered. For the very first time in his thirty-four years, Alex was certain of his paternity and of his rightful place as heir to the Hastings dukedom. He wouldn’t deny feeling a sense of relief to finally know where he belonged—that he did in fact belong.

  “Now you both are assured of your paternity.”

  Alex nodded.

  “I’m very happy for you.” Charlotte also envied his sense of belonging.

  He studied her intently as if trying to read her thoughts or trying to decipher more from her words.

  “Do you often wonder about your mother?”

  Charlotte blinked. They’d never spoken of this and h
e was now giving her the perfect opportunity to explain. Would he listen to her now?

  “Yes I have.”

  He angled himself more toward her. “Would you like to have known her?”

  Charlotte’s throat closed up on her response and she felt the tears smart her eyes. “Yes, I would like to have known her.” And that was the truth. She would have done, but had her mother lived, how different her life would have been. She and her sister would never have come to know James, she’d never have met Alex and she wouldn’t have Nicholas.

  For a moment it looked as if Alex would continue on in that vein of questioning, but he seemed to think better of it and fell silent, turning to gaze off in the distance at the fire burning in the grate. He looked unaccountably forlorn for a moment, his defenses down.

  “Alex.”

  He turned to her.

  “I did love you,” she said softly, but unwilling to lay her heart completely bare to let him know her feelings had not changed. “Please believe me when I say I never meant to hurt you.”

  Some emotion flickered in his eyes. “What happened in the past is done. I accepted long ago it can’t be changed no matter how hard I may wish it could.”

  Did that mean he now had it in his heart to forgive her?

  “But we can’t resurrect long-dead emotions. Our love affair was in the past and there it shall remain.”

  Charlotte bit her lip in an effort to override the pain of his words. While it appeared his bitterness was at an end, what seemed to have replaced it was indifference. He no longer felt enough for her to even elicit his anger. She’d never thought she’d ever prefer the former, but at that moment, she sorely did. Better he rage at her in anger and hurt than resign their faux marriage to the fate of complete indifference.

  But he wanted her and that he hadn’t been able to hide. A physical relationship would be better than nothing at all.